


i'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight

by memorysdaughter



Series: The Amazing Zoltar [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Coulson's grilled cheese, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Not Ward friendly, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, i just don't think about him much, somehow doesn't mention Lincoln but not like on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She goes blind on a Tuesday.</p><p>(Just like the Amazing Zoltar machine at the carnival said she would, but that's neither here nor there.)</p><p> </p><p>For Skoulson Romfest 2k16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight

**Author's Note:**

> I got the first two lines out of nowhere and decided to write the rest. Also, I wrote this while watching "Pitch Perfect 2" on a loop, so... that's where the title came from.

She goes blind on a Tuesday.

(Just like the Amazing Zoltar machine at the carnival they went to two weeks ago said she would, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Daisy’s been in plenty of weird situations before.  A few years ago she was kidnapped out of a van by literal men in black and escorted to a plane with a bag over her head.  Shortly thereafter she started working for a secret organization that then ceased to be both a secret and an organization.  And then there was the temple in Puerto Rico, the way she could shake the world, and her no-longer-so-secret crush on that once-more-secret organization’s director (or, so, technically, _not_ the director; Daisy couldn’t keep up with what Coulson was thinking, and she has to admit, there were parts of Director Mack that she found absolutely _hot)_.

But she’s pretty sure that opening her eyes to complete blackness on a Tuesday morning, a morning that was supposed to be full of granola cereal and tai chi with May and coffee with Coulson and training with Mack and Joey and then like four hours of brainstorming with Coulson on how to beat the Inhuman of death inhabiting the body of Grant Ward (something Daisy finds physically repulsive to the point that during their first brainstorming session she vomited, _twice_ , and every time since she’s had nausea sloshing in her stomach, threatening to make her gag), is the strangest thing that’s happened to her.

At first she’s not sure what’s happening.  Actually, at first she thinks she’s still sleeping, since her dream was about thick woolen blankets and those things that dangle from the ceiling in car washes that are nearly exactly like thick woolen blankets, and maybe her eyes just aren’t open, but then she rolls over and hears and feels her alarm clock (sometimes this whole everything-in-the-world-has-vibrations thing is absolutely irritating).  She’s definitely awake.

And definitely blind.

Daisy turns off the alarm clock and tries to figure out how she’s going to get out of bed.  She sits up and reaches out for her nightstand with her left hand; her fingers whack into it much harder than she thought she would and she winces.

Then she feels like the world’s dumbest Inhuman – _everything in the world has vibrations_ – and starts listening rather than trying to see.

It’s a plan not without its flaws; feeling the vibrations of everything around her gets her only half the picture, so she manages to crash into the door frame, forehead first, and she tumbles onto the tile floor of the bathroom.

Then she realizes she left her clothes back in her room.

Forty minutes later she’s dressed, although she can’t be sure her clothes are all on the right way, and mostly groomed, despite the fact she’s pretty sure her hair is a wreck.  She’s also positive she’s covered in bruises from everything she’s smacked into, her hands are raw from trying to feel for possible obstacles before running into them, and she’s starving.

Oh, and she has a massive headache from using peripheral aspects of her powers.

So far this is shaping up to be on the top of the list of Worst Tuesdays Ever.

 

* * *

 

 Daisy gets out into the hallway and is immediately disoriented.

_God.  I’ve lived here for years, I’ve gone to the kitchen just about every morning, and yet once I can’t use my eyes to find my way there it’s like I’ve never seen it before in my life._

She thinks about it.  Right hand turn.

Daisy puts one hand to the wall to guide her and squares her shoulders.

She makes it forty-seven steps (because yeah, of course she’s counting) before she feels bizarre vibrations.  They’re person vibrations, but they’re different, twisted, tangled, knotted.  She can’t separate them, can’t parse them, and her stomach sloshes with the nausea she usually reserves for what-the-hell-are-we-going-to-do-about-dead-asshole-Ward sessions.

_What is happening to me?_

“Daisy?”

_May.  Why didn’t I know it was May?_

“Um, hi,” Daisy says and she turns towards May.

She hears May’s sharp intake of breath. “Daisy…” her SO says slowly. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Daisy laughs, an awkward chuckle that borders on insane giggling. “I have no idea,” she says.  May’s vibrations are clotted and they bounce off her like rubber balls off her sternum.  They seem to get stronger, and then May’s hands touch her arms.

Daisy nearly vomits.  She’s completely overwhelmed.  All of May’s stress and nerves flow through her, rattle between her own vibrations like raindrops down a gutter, fiery hot raindrops of napalm.  Daisy chokes, gags, shoves herself away from May.

“Daisy?”

“No,” Daisy gasps.  She’s now absolutely disoriented.  Stumbling away from May takes all of her energy; she wobbles as she forces herself down the hallway.

She’s not sure how many steps she takes before another set of hands grip her arms.  Daisy moans. “Please.  Please don’t touch me.”

“What’s wrong, Tremors?”

The nausea intensifies.

“Something wrong?” Bobbi’s voice joins Mack’s.

“I don’t know,” Mack says unsteadily. “She’s…”

Bobbi’s hands brush against Daisy’s and they feel like razor blades.  Daisy tries to pulse Bobbi away from her but her powers gnarl in her hands like barbed wire and it feels like a punch in the stomach.  Daisy grunts and bends down, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Her freakout is drawing more people; she can tell, because the vibrations are getting worse.  The headache pounds behind her eyes and down her neck.  Her barbed wire powers wrap her arms and her hands in tight gloves.  Nausea rocks her body and she retches, gagging on her own saliva.  Everything she knows about her body – her visual perception, her powers, her strength, her ability to read people around her through their vibrations or their body language, hell, _all_ of her abilities have been changed and distorted.

(The Amazing Zoltar didn’t mention anything about this.)

“Tremors,” Mack says, and his hand on her arm causes her to retch again. “What do you need?”

His words twist in her ears, slowing down and warping.  They’re caught up in his vibrations, which are stomping against Daisy’s spine like golf shoes from hell.  She can’t focus on what he’s saying when how he’s saying it is causing her to nearly be physically ill.

Daisy flails out in the darkness.  She can’t tell if she wants Mack to get away from her or if she’s trying to physically get rid of Mack.  Either way, it’s not working.

She hiccups and all of the voices around her turn into vibrations, the vibrations turn into pain, and she’s lost in a cage of darkness and throbbing silence.  The bubbling nervous energy of everyone trying to help her feels as though they’re all sitting on her chest.

Daisy’s so lost that she barely feels new vibrations enter the mix.  Eventually they get to her – calm, rhythmic, steady.  They twine around the chaos in her veins and lock things down, stern prison guards stopping an all-out riot.  The new vibrations feel like coming home, like a soft rainfall on a tin roof, a cozy sweater and hot cocoa in front of a fireplace, a hug and a caress from a definitely loved one.

“Coulson,” she breathes.

His hands wrap around her wrists, pulling her to her feet, and instead of the razor wire she was expecting, the touch comforts her.  She’s still unsteady, still nauseous, but she’s still in control of her own limbs, and she wraps them around him. “I can’t see,” she whispers.

Daisy feels him laugh – _soft kittens jumping on my lap_ – and she’s finally able to pick a voice out of the cavalcade of noise around her. “We know.”

“Yeah?”

They’re moving now.  She’s taking hesitant steps with her wrists still in his secure hands, wobbling on her own two feet but definitely under her own power, the vibrations around her settling as she moves.

“Sit down,” he says some time later, and he guides her body into a seated position.  She feels leather as he releases her arms, knows the softness under her is the couch in his office.

“Coulson,” she rasps out, “I need…”

Daisy gags and retches.  She feels Coulson moving quickly in front of her, his vibrations suddenly all the way back up to _nervous nervous_ instead of _soft kitten_ and then his touch is back, guiding her hand to the garbage can in front of her.  She vomits and leans back, sweaty and unsure.

“Rest,” Coulson murmurs.

“Stay,” Daisy pleads. “Stay.”

His hands – his gorgeous wonderful calming hands – brush her shoulders and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, stroking her back. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

Coulson doesn’t take his eyes off Daisy for the three hours she stays on his couch, asleep.  She’s tormented by whatever her dreams are; she moans and rocks back and forth.  He tries to comfort her as best he can, saying her name calmly, reminding her he’s there, he’s not leaving, but it doesn’t work.

Eventually as the groans turn to panicked whimpers Coulson sits beside her, holds her hand, whispers in her ear. “You are Daisy Johnson.  You’re a superhero.  You’re brilliant, and focused, and you do things most people only dream of.  You’ve saved so many lives, you’ve brought hope to people who were having the worst days of their lives, you’ve shown me…”

He tears up and forces himself to take a deep breath. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to struggle.  To not understand the paths I’m walking or even to know what the destination is.  You make me laugh.  You inspire me with your spirit and the way you _just don’t quit_.

“Don’t quit.  Don’t quit.  Open your eyes and come back to me.”

Daisy settles, her fingers tight around his.  For the first time in a long, something feels right.  Coulson’s afraid to move, afraid to jeopardize it.

So he doesn’t. 

 

* * *

 

She’s still blind on Wednesday.

And Thursday.

And Friday.

It doesn’t matter, though, because she doesn’t leave Coulson’s side.  She stays in his office and no one else comes in.  He brings her meals and tells her where everything is on her plate, using a clock face for reference ( _your grilled cheese is at six o’clock, and no, Daisy, I’m not telling you what the secret ingredient is)_.  She doesn’t spill too much (as far as she can tell).  He finds clothes, outfits she can’t see but which she’s pretty sure don’t match, and reminds her to check for the tags in the back so she gets them on the right way.

The vibrations and the nausea stay at a minimum.  They listen to jazz records and Coulson talks about Captain America and Daisy tells him about the crate of her mother’s things from Afterlife she’s not brave enough to open.

On Saturday morning a thought hits her. “What happens if this is forever?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “What would be so bad about that?”

Daisy can think of a million things.  _My independence.  My powers.  My inability to be around anyone besides you.  The nausea and overwhelming vibrations when I do get near anyone else.  The fact that if I don’t have SHIELD and my work here I’m useless.  I have no other skills.  What about the Inhumans out there who are my fault, you know, since I dropped those crystals in the ocean?  They need my help and I’m no good to them like this._

“Fury’s only got one eye,” Coulson says when it’s clear Daisy can’t speak. “And so, yeah, that’s one more than you’ve got at the moment, but we’d find ways to work around it.”

He sits down on the couch next to her and slips his hand into hers.  Instantly she’s grounded, and the thudding heart threatening to beat out of her chest slows. “Guide dogs are adorable.  And so smart.”

“I don’t…” Daisy isn’t even sure what to say about that. “I can’t do this, Coulson.”

He puts something in her hand.  A card.

“What’s this?”

“I went back to the Amazing Zoltar.”

“When?”

“That’s your only question?” Coulson sounds amused. “When did I sneak away from base to go to a mostly-abandoned carnival to ask a question of a wooden man in a wood-and-glass box?”

“Yes.  That should have been evident when I said ‘when.’”

“Last night.”

“And what did you ask the Amazing Zoltar?”

“As it turns out, you don’t really ask the Amazing Zoltar anything.  You just listen.”

Daisy’s getting irritated. “Well, as you know, I can’t read this, and I’m pretty sure Simmons told us two days ago that my blindness is caused by the combination of antibiotics she gave me for the chest infection I had last week and their interaction with my fantastic Inhuman biology.”

Coulson’s hand brushes her cheek. “It doesn’t matter,” he breathes into her ear.

“Then why are you telling me about it?” she asks, strangely overcome by far too many feelings.

“Because sometimes I like to prove that life is about fate and destiny and weird coincidences and maybe strange things… like one-handed men who should have been buried in a wooden box, or a girl in a glass case who came back from the dead who turned into a true super woman who rocks everyone’s world… and the ways they keep coming together…”

“You’re shameless.”

“… rather than whatever happens to try to tear them apart.”

Daisy turns her head, gauging where he is by the feeling of his breath on her face, by the position of his hands on her body, and leans towards him, kissing him.

There’s silence after their lips part.

“You were just saying we should celebrate the ways we come together,” Daisy says. “And since I’m blind and basically trapped in your office, I don’t have a lot of party resources.  So…”

He kisses her. “I see what you mean.  And I’ve never been much of a party guy, anyway.  It’s more about the after-party, if you ask me.”

“I don’t think I did,” Daisy says, and she draws him close.  She might be in the dark (literally this time), but as they were, they still are now, in the dark together.


End file.
